Move Along
by La Artista Di Fame
Summary: Three years after the death of his twin brother and best friend, Fred, George Weasley takes an excursion to New York for a week of muggle living and attempts at saving his failing joke shop career.  Yet instead he finds a world unlike anything he knows.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This chapter has been revised slightly after suggestions in comments as well as me realizing that my 2am writing still had some kinks which must be worked out. You know who is owned by JKR and everyone else is owned by me. Lyrics owned by Greenday.**

Chapter 1: Welcome to "Paradise"

_Dear mother,  
Can you hear me whining?  
It's been three whole weeks  
Since that I have left your home  
This sudden fear has left me trembling  
Cause now it seems that I am out here on my own  
And I'm feeling so alone_

Nobody rushing down the busy street at that time seemed to notice that a man of about twenty-two had appeared out of thin air into the dark alleyway. He was dressed normally enough in frayed jeans and a faded black t-shirt with a pair of ancient black converse and a canvas satchel thrown over his shoulder, but his shaggy red hair and untrimmed goatee made him look worn and traveled. He quickly stuffed the thin stick of ebony that he was holding into his pocket and moved out towards the crowded street. He quickly realized that by the dress and manner of the people around him, he had not apparated into the right place and was now quite lost in the middle of an unknown country without being able to use any magic due to the swarming amounts of muggles around him.

He could not help but look up in awe at the towering office buildings around him, so closely fit that it was hard to see the smog filled sky through them. Business suits and brief cases pushed past him impatiently- their appointments were far too important to be held up by some blundering tourist. He stumbled and tried to keep out of their way but they moved at a pace that was unlike anything he had ever experienced, even while attempting to ride the London Underground. He was unaware that he had apparated himself into the middle on Wall street on a Monday at 8:30 am.

A particularly heavy shoulder knocked into him, sending his body to the ground and his satchel about three feet away, spilling clothes and a wallet across the damp cement. A man covered in three layers of clothes, regardless of the fact that it was close to ninety degrees, sidled up to the mess and started picking through it as the red head pulled himself to his feet.

"Get your hands off that, it's not a free for all," A short woman with a strong voice strode up and pushed the homeless man off of the scattered belongings. The man growled at her slightly, but moved away quickly, apparently afraid of the woman who was only half his size. "You need to watch where you're going better," she said, turning her striking green eyes towards the red head who was now hurriedly pushing his soiled wardrobe back into his bag.

The woman was actually more of a girl of what looked like eighteen, covered in piercing, she was somewhat beautiful. Admittedly, somewhat beautiful is an odd thing to call somebody, but that's what she was. She wasn't somebody to take home to your father and at first glance he would pat you on the back with pride, instead she was something that your mother would call interesting. Her lips were full, but they were unattractively chapped, and her eyes slanted in a way that hinted at some sort of exotic dissent, but they were covered in too much make up. The many silver rings and dots on her face looked out of place and her clothes were dirty and covered in holes.

"I know I was just- I was just- thank you," he let out a sigh of relief and tried to keep staring at the green eyes as opposed to the very low cut shirt that revealed three vertical surface piercings trailing into the ample crease of her chest.

"You're a long way from home, Mr. London," The girl said as she picked up his wallet and began flipping through it.

"George, my name is George," he said, not realizing that she was actually referring to his accent.

"I know that. George Weasley, six foot one," she said with a smirk, waving his wallet, which held his identification card in it, in front of his face. He grabbed it quickly and shoved it into his back pocket. "I'm Brody," she pushed her hand towards him and he took it, grateful to find someone that seemed to have time to pay attention to him.

"You wouldn't happen to know where to find the Econolodge would you?" he inquired hopefully about the hotel that he had booked for the next week of his visit.

"The one in Harlem? Honey, you're a long way from there. You must have got off on the wrong subway stop," She shook her head, creating a wave in her long auburn hair. "Look, you're going to go straight down this street and hang your first left, there is a subway station there-"

"Can you just show me?" The words exited George's mouth before he even had a chance to think about how absurd they sounded. In truth, the incident of dropping all of his belongings and almost having them stolen had shown him just how alone he was and just how strange this city really was to him. He did not feel like being left alone again in this city to undoubtedly get lost and it would be nice to have some sort of company for the walk.

"I- I don't know you ," the words were said with a mingling of annoyance and childlike innocence.

"I know, I just, I came out here without really thinking about what I was going to do for a week, and I don't know anybody out here, and I obviously can't handle myself very well," The girls eyes shifted towards the passing people and he knew that she was looking for an escape route. "Can I at least buy you breakfast for saving my stuff?"

She chewed her lip nervously for a minute, pushing the piercings with her tongue in a very unbecoming manner. "Fine. But I have a class I have to be at in Chelsea in two hours so we should head in that direction."

Without his answer she started moving in the path that she had previously started directing him. He quickly realized that it wasn't just the business suits that moved in that rude, hurried manner, but everyone in New York and even though she was at least six inches shorter than him, he had to rush to keep up with her as she dodged past groups of Japanese tourists and coffee drinking workers. George tried to be somewhat of a decent individual but couldn't help noticing the way that the short jean skirt she was wearing kept moving in a way that threatened to reveal the roundness underneath with every step she took. He ripped his eyes away from her behind long enough to walk down the subway stairs without falling and was grateful that he did as she turned quickly to him. He was pretty sure that if she had caught him looking she could have probably beaten him to a pulp if she wanted to.

"Do you have anymore rides left on your metro card or do you need to buy another one?" The language seemed somewhat foreign and with his thoughts still on the fact that it had been about five months since his break up with Alicia and he was longing for some female company, he just stared blankly at her. She asked the question again, slower this time and more impatiently.

"I-uh- my what?"

"Metrocard. Have you ever even ridden the subway before?"

"Well I rode the underground back home. I still have my pass from that if that's what you mean." He went to grab his wallet but stopped when he saw the exasperated look on her face.

"Do you have any money?"

"I have this," He pulled out a blue Visa Check Card that Hermione had set up for him before his trip because she was sure that this transfer to American Muggle money would be too much for him. Brody's eyes cast toward the Metrocard machines, where all three had lines of ten people or more, and sighed.

"We don't have time to do that crap," she mumbled with annoyance. "Look, I'll let you use one of my swipes but this better be a pretty decent breakfast."

She started off towards the turnstiles without another word and stepped into what looked like the shortest line. After swiping her way through, she handed the card to George and he silently praised the fact that he had the ability to watch and learn as opposed to most of the wizarding world when it came to muggle ways of doing things. He pushed his way through the turnstile successfully and she ripped the card from his grasp and starting walking through the tunnels, once again making her skirt do its playful dance.

After two trains and a slight queasy feeling, the two surfaced on to the normal street once again Brody turned towards George expectantly.

"So, breakfast then?"

"Um- yeah- you see I don't really live here so it would be a bit hard to pick seeing that I don't know any restaurants, at all," he scratched the back of his freckled neck with a shrug and smiled at her. She smiled back slightly and it made him feel a bit better.

"Well, judging by the fact that you're staying in Harlem, you probably don't have much money," he nodded quickly and her smile grew slightly. "There's a café about two blocks away with awesome pancakes- you guys do eat pancakes in England right?"

"No, never heard of them." It took Brody a second to realize that George was being a complete smart ass but when she did it seemed to soften her even more and she allowed herself to slow down a bit and walk closer to him as she led him to the tiny place that actually ended up being about six blocks away.

The peeling letters on the dirty window said that the place was called "Yasmine's Café." It wasn't much except for a small, single room with about four tables inside and two outside. All of the tables seemed to have some sort of grease on the them and the menu only had about fifteen items in all and most of them weren't served until after twelve. The woman behind the counter was overweight and seemed very annoyed at having to help people. George assumed that this ill-tempered woman must have been Yasmine and he hoped that the food tasted a lot better than the atmosphere it was served in. After eating many dinners in his decrepit house, however, he came to know that one cannot judge a places cooking ability by the looks of it. This was true for Yasmine's cooking too as he soon found out over a plate of pancakes and bacon.

He hadn't realized how hungry he was and after paying a minimal amount for the two meals, he began shoveling the food into his mouth in an almost animal-like fashion. A small giggle from the other side of the table reminded George that he wasn't alone and looked up to see Brody picking gingerly at her bacon.

"Do they not feed you back at home Mr. London?" she asked with a smile.

"Not at all. It's a form of vicious European torture to make us bow to the queen," he winked at her and she rolled her eyes.

"I'm so sure, that terrible pancake famine is running rampant."

"Naturally." They glanced at each other happily before returning to their food.

"So what brings you out here?" Brody finally asked after a few minutes of silence .

"Business," the word was thick through a mouthful of syrup and butter that he swallowed before finishing. "My younger sister and I own a joke shop and I'm out here to meet a business partner to exchange ideas and possible get a purchase."

This wasn't exactly the truth. For the past couple of years, George had been trying to rebuild the shop on his own after losing his brother and had finally allowed Ginny to help out after much pleading. Unfortunately, while Ginny was intelligent and just as much of a practical joker as himself, the creative process had come to a definite halt when Fred had died. George had come out here to see if he could get some aspiration. There was no waiting business partner, no promise of purchasing, just hopes that he would find something to help wake up whatever had died with Fred. He didn't really know why he had made up the last part, it just seemed important to impress this girl.

"A joke shop huh? Like whoopee cushions and jumping snakes in a can and stuff like that?" She asked with one eyebrow raise.

"Yeah, something like that, just a little more… original you could say."

While she looked intrigued, George did not reveal anymore about Weasley Wizarding Wheezes to Brody. It just seemed like a bad idea to begin describing the exact spell for the portable swamps. History had told him that any sort of reference to magic to strange muggles tending to result in a trip to a mental institution.

Instead, they talked about their families, as the youngest of two in a single father household, she was amazed at the number of siblings he had and kept asking about how his mother handled it all. He told her about England and everything there, leaving out exactly what kind of shops were on Diagon Ally and the classes that he took at his strange boarding high school. She in turn told him of life, growing up in Salem Massachusetts and moving to New York a year ago to study dance and English at some prestigious art school.

He couldn't help but notice how much she reminded him of Ginny. They were about the same age and had the same way of talking really fast when they got excited and flipping their hair. She was intelligent like Ginny and well spoken, but George was glad that his little sister hadn't adopted the same anger towards the world that this girl had. When on subjects of society or the government, her voice dripped with disdain and her forehead wrinkled with a mixture of annoyance and fury.

"Oh! I had no idea what time it was!" she said suddenly as she pulled a green plastic square out of her bag and looked at it. George recognized it as the same kind of cell-o-fono that his father had been unsuccessful at bewitching last month. He had only succeeded in making it dial a very annoyed person named "Mom" every hour on the hour without prompting.

"I really have to go, but thank you so much for breakfast," she rose hurriedly from the table and grabbed her bag, preparing to move towards the door.

"But wait! I still don't know how to get to my hotel!" George said helplessly, rushing after her.

"You're just gonna get back on the train and- and- oh you can ask someone down there, they should help!" she called before dodging between a family and disappearing down the road at top speed.

Once again plunged into complete loneliness, George sighed and began wandering aimlessly once again.

Please review and check out my other stories, additions and revisions to "Harry Potter The True Story: Book One" and "Just a Little American Quidditch" coming soon.

La Artista Di Fame.


	2. Chapter 2

-1Chapter 2:

He had made a pact to himself that besides getting to America, he was going to spend the rest of his trip living as a muggle. No apparating, no floo network, no magic whatsoever. Yet it had been over two hours since Brody had left him to fend for himself and he had gotten himself thoroughly lost down a network of random streets and alleyways. He must have taken a wrong turn somewhere after leaving the café but he was now standing amidst a grouping of decrepit buildings covered in intricate graffiti. An odd smell came from the street and he was sure it had something to do with the various dark piles of what looked like old dog poop which sporadically lay within his line of walking. There was principle in attempting to live like a muggle, but there was also intelligence in taking advantage of the tools provided to you.

George looked around quickly and with a pop he disappeared as he said under his breath "Econolodge, Econolodge."

This time, when he reappeared he was standing behind a set of old, dirty tin trash cans overflowing with blackened goods. A cloud of flies swarmed the garbage, colliding blindly with George's face every so often. The building behind him was built out of worn, precarious looking brick that threatened to crumble at any minute. Many windows had been knocked out and boarded up and the neon sign above the front door had been hit with so many stones that it now said "cono dg".

George looked around quickly to make sure that nobody was looking before moving to the front door and searching the bricks around it. Resting his eyes upon the cracked green doorbell to the left of the door, he frantically pressed the button in the correct pattern: fast fast slow fast slow slow fast fast. A delicate tinkling noise could be heard inside the building which looked completely empty from the outside and the door opened inwardly to reveal an ornate entrance hall.

Trimmed with dark wood and burgundy wallpaper, the hotel's lobby was filled with antique looking furnishing that was overstuffed and welcoming. In the far left corner, across from the stone fireplace, a long desk made of shining redwood held a bespectacled house elf in a wine colored suit.

"Mr. Weasley I presume?" The elf's squeaky voice reminded him of Dobby and the familiar ache that he had been feeling for the past three years brushed over him once again.

"Yes, I have a reservation for the next week I believe," he said as he walked up to the table and watched as the elf waved his hand in the air, conjuring a long scroll that he began skimming.

"Right, right, in the East wing," he muttered, moving his thin finger down the list of names that filled the scroll. With a the snap of his fingers, the scroll disappeared once again and he turned a crooked toothed smile to George. "I must say Mr. Weasley, I am a British native myself and it is quite an honor to have someone of the esteemed Order staying here at the Majestic!"

"Well, thank you," George grinned. He appreciated that while the Order had now become simply a reason for everyone to sit around eating his mother's cooking and gossip, he was still reaping the benefits and adoration of simply being a part of it. Defeating a murderous dark lord did come with its advantages.

"As a token of our appreciation, we here at the Majestic would like you to enjoy your stay here free from any charge," the elf announced excitedly, his voice rising in pitch with every word as if he could barely curb his enthusiasm. George had to admit, while the American house elves had been free since the 1957 Half Breed Equality Movement, they sill retained a wonderful knack for customer service. "Here is the key to your room and if you would kindly show me your belongings I will happily send them to your quarters," he handed George a long iron key with an intricately carved "M" and the numbers 374 on it.

"No need for that, my only bag is on my back and I'll be fine to take it up myself." George patted the mud stained satchel and smiled at the dejected looking concierge.

"Well than, by all means sir, have a wonderful stay." With a loud crack, the elf was gone and George was alone in the grandiose room. He located the elevator and after telling the disembodied voice which room he wanted, was seated in a comfortable sitting room adjacent to the enormous bedroom that he was to inhabit for the next seven days.

Besides Mundungus and Ron, he seemed to be the only member of the Order that consistently accepted the gratuities of his actions on that night three years ago that shop keepers and restaurant owners were constantly throwing at them. His mother always clucked with disapproval, stating that it was using the battle as a ploy for free goods and special treatment. On the nights when the sherry had hit her too hard, she would tell him that it was disrespectful to his brother's death, but George knew Fred would have done the same if the roles had been reversed.

He hated when the sherry hit his mother hard. She had never drank before Fred's death, and if she had, it was never in front of the kids. Now, though, she would go into spells where she would empty glass after glass, falling deeper into a delirious world that her family didn't understand. It always began at dinner, usually on days that made her think about her son most- his birthday, holidays, random Tuesdays that she saw any sort of mischief being made. She would finish cooking dinner without any help, and without speaking to anyone, sit down with the family in front of an empty plate and a full glass. They would all offer to serve her some mashed potatoes or roast chicken but she would always shake her head, her lip constantly quivering as she sipped at her glass, continuously refilling it with a wave of her wand. The family would watch helplessly as her eyes reddened and glazed over with a mixture of silent tears and intoxication. Those nights always ended the same way- with her curled up on the sofa, clutching the now faded and worn sweater and sobbing into the yellow F that adorned it. If George made the mistake of coming near her when she was in this state, he was undoubtedly snatched into her arms and forced to endure a barrage of emotion as she demanded him to explain why he had left her. Why he wouldn't come back home.

"I need you. I need you here with me," she always choked, tugging at his shirt with her shaking hands. "I'm sorry for yelling. I'm sorry for not supporting your dreams, for not understanding your creativity," she would wail, shaking the entire house with her emotion. "I'll change, I'll change, just come home, come home Fred," she would repeat these words until sleep washed over her and George was stuck in her grasp until she woke the next morning.

These nights always put an uncomfortable air over the Burrow and Ginny made sure that Harry was always near by to help her and Ron escape. His father could do nothing but watch on sadly as his wife moaned on, rubbing her back but failing in the slightest to comfort her. The trick was to leave the house without her noticing, for if in the midst of her grief she saw one of the other children exiting the house she would demand a reason why they too were leaving her and her wails would double in volume and length.

George had always regarded his mother as the strongest person he knew and it killed him to see her like this so often but he couldn't help but sympathize. The entire house seemed a lot more depressing, a lot more run-down without his twin bouncing merrily at his side. Even George himself had seemed to lose that spark of humor that he had always brightened the house with. None of his jokes seemed worth it without Fred to provide the punch line. His mind stopped working in the witty, playful way that it once had and instead lingered on the constant feeling of emptiness that had been with him so long that it almost felt natural at this point.

It was this personality change which had halted productions on Weasley Wizarding Wheezes and caused what Ginny had termed the "profit dry spell." Once the highest rated gag network in the business, the company now sat in shambles as kids grew bored of the same Ton-Tongue Toffees and Headless Hats that had been on sale for the past four years. Ginny tried her hardest, and while her spell casting was impeccable, she didn't have the ideas to help the floundering store.

George couldn't help but believe that it must have been Fred who had come up with all of this genius that they had made so much money off in their first few years of business. How could George have had any part of it and now be completely void of any talent in the matter? He was constantly cursing himself for ruining the business that his brother left him, constantly repeating that wherever Fred was, he was disappointed in him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey readers! The following chapter explains a bit about Brody and reveals something huge. Sorry that she is the bulk of this chapter but there is a bit of George at the end and I promise the next installment will have a lot of him in it. **

Chapter 3

"E. Broderick" The voice called out and Brody stood from the plastic red chair that she was sitting in and walked to the long wooden desk where a frustrated looking woman sat, her brow stitched. "How can I help you?"

"I'm here to visit my sister, Ametti Broderick," she held up the papers she knew that were needed including her identification card where a non-pierced picture of her sat waving with boredom at the woman.

"Your sister has been going backwards in treatment and the doctors feel that it is not advisable for her to have visitors at this time," the woman said sternly as she shuffled through papers.

"My sister has been going backwards because she hasn't had visitors in weeks!" Brody said angrily. "I've come everyday in the past week and this is the only thing that you can tell me. Her condition always got better when she was surrounded by the family."

"The doctor has advised against it Miss, I cannot go against his wishes."

"Than bring him out here so I can talk to him," Brody clenched and unclenched her hands in anger.

"I'm sorry but he's on lunch right now and he doesn't want to be disturbed," the woman smirked slightly which was more than Brody could take.

"For the amount that my family is paying him to take care of my sister, which he must not be doing a good job if she is getting worse, he can march his happy ass out here and talk to me so that I know what exactly the hell is happening to my sister!"

The woman looked shocked by this outburst and blinked a few times at the shaking girl in front of her. "I'll go get him," she said meekly before disappearing through a door behind her. She reappeared moments later accompanied by Dr. Emrys who had a smudge of mustard on his cheek.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked with exhaustion as he ran his fingers through his grey streaked brown hair.

"What's going on with Ametti?" Brody demanded.

"In the past two weeks we've seen a shocking decline in the amount of power she is emitting, to the point of a complete halt in any outbursts over the past four days."

"Well that's a good thing isn't it? No more randomly lighting things on fire or sending stuff hurtling into walls."

"Not exactly," the doctor said slowly, glancing around to make sure the waiting room was definitely empty. "Due to the things your sister was put through by your mother, we can only expect one of two outcomes from the current situation- either her outbursts are being bottled up and will be released at once in a massive burst that could be very dangerous to all involved, or your sister is experiencing post traumatic failure of her magikulary glands."

"Her what?"

"Well," he said gingerly. "In slang term, your sister may be squibbing out."

Brody was silent for a moment as her thoughts raced to her sister who was five years her senior and had once been one of the smartest witches that she knew. "I want to see her," she said quietly.

"Miss, if she is bottling it up the excitement of your presence could release it and the results could be treacherous. I suggest you reconsider."

"I want to see my sister." she repeated, much more firmly this time and the doctor, seeing that he would not be able to dissuade her, nodded and led her to the familiar room and unlocked the door for her to enter.

It was cleaner than normal, there was no broken glass or charred furniture like the rest of her visits. Her sister was seated in a stool facing the window with her back towards the door, staring out at the brick wall across the alley below. She was a mirror image of Brody but with blonde hair that had been cut closely to her head, the result of an outburst that had singed her long locks to disrepair. At the sound of the door, she turned to face Brody as she sidled in, who noted that her eyebrows had not grown back yet and there was a new scar across her cheek.

"Little sister!" she exclaimed happily as she stood from her place and walked towards her with outstretched arms. Her hospital gown hung more loosely than it had before and Brody wondered if she had been eating. "Oh my little Elisa! I've missed you so much!" her voice dripped with the syrup sweetness that Brody knew the medication caused her. She hugged her tightly, wishing that her sister could find this peaceful happiness without choking down potion every morning.

"The doctor says you're doing better," Brody lied as they sat side-by-side on the hard bed that her sister occupied.

"Oh don't lie to me, I'm sick, not stupid," Ametti giggled. "I know what's going on with me, you don't have to tip toe around the subject. Let's not talk about that though, how is the outside world going?"

"Well, it's-it's still the outside world. Boring. The magical government is messing everything up again, keep helping the muggle government cover up their mistakes. Using memory charms to take away from the war in Iraq."

"You're too political, I want to know about you, not that nonsense. How's muggle college? Have you met a boy yet?" Brody smiled, leave it to her sister to be constantly pushing her towards marriage. It seemed like only yesterday that Ametti had rushed home to tell the family about her engagement with Ayden. That had been a happy time, that was until… Brody pushed the thought from her mind and instead answered her sister's question.

"School is going good, haven't had to charm any of my teachers into raising my grades yet," she joked. "And I actually met a boy this morning. He took me to breakfast."

"Oh a date! How wonderful! I always worried that you were a lesbian when we were little and you wanted to play beater instead of making up love potions," Brody's ears grew red and she laughed nervously. "Tell me about him. How did you two meet? Muggle or wizard?"

"Muggle. He was lost and about to get robbed so I helped him out and he repaid me with breakfast. Very cute, red hair, nice British accent, full of jokes."

"Oh you and your muggles. You always liked the simple ones didn't you? At least I know you'll still love me when I've completely turned," the heavy subject seemed slightly lighter as her sister addressed it with the same perkiness as she did the rest of the conversation.

"So you think you are definitely squibbing then?" Brody asked hesitantly, slightly comforted in knowing that it would mean being able to take her out of his place.

"Baby I know I am. Its better this way though, I can go home with you. Besides, mom wanted it this way," Brody felt an angry ache at the mention of her mother and wished that it created such rage in her sister as well but new much better than that.

"Don't talk about her. It doesn't matter what she wanted. She was the one that did this to you, she doesn't deserve your respect."

"Oh Ellie, when are you going to learn how to forgive? The woman died, its not like she can take back anything that she did. Honestly, you're such an angry person sometimes."

It killed Brody to know that her sister had forgiven their mother for everything that she had done to her, how she had ruined her life, how she had destroyed their family. Brody had never hated anyone more, well perhaps Ayden, but that was for breaking his sister's heart after she was already down.

"I'm tired darling and you're making me anxious. I think its time for you to go." Ametti rose from the bed and returned to the stool and began staring intently at the brick wall again.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay a little? I'll calm down, I promise." Brody was met with no response so after a couple of moments she left the room and walked sullenly from the building.

She walked aimlessly for a while, turning the visit over in her head, replaying the conversation again and again. She seemed to linger on the talk of the muggle boy that she had met early that morning and wondered if he had ever found where he was supposed to be staying. Where was that again? Oh yes, the Econolodge. She had heard that name before but she wasn't sure why it was important. She had only lived in the city for a year, just for school and for her sister to see this specialist so she was still discovering it and while the name rang a bell, she was unable to surface any facts about it from her memory.

She had just begun to get lonely as she realized that the streetlights were turning on and she wished that she hadn't left George so abruptly. For a muggle he had been excellent company.

"Well, fancy meeting you again!" She heard, breaking her from her thoughts and she looked up to see the smiling face of George, seated on a bus stop bench just ahead of her. The tightness in her chest that had been holding her since leaving her sister loosened slightly at the sight of him and she smiled as she walked to him.

**Thanks for reading and please review with any questions, suggestions or praises!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Change

_I've watched you change_

_Into a fly_

_I looked away_

_You were on fire_

_I've watched a change in you_

_It's like you never had wings._

"Mr. London, are you stalking me?" Brody asked playfully as she strode up to the bench that George was seated on.

"Actually no, I was just looking for another random girl that would spend my money and leave me stranded in the streets of an unknown city to find my own way home," he smirked and she shoved his shoulder playfully.

"I really am sorry about that ," she said. "I was late. You did find your hotel though eventually?"

"I never did, I've been wandering these streets alone since ten am," he said, casting his eyes down forlornly.

"Oh god I feel terrible now! Let me- wait, you're such a liar you changed clothes!" She shoved him and he laughed. "Ass hole."

"I'm sorry, I had to, it was too easy," She hit him again and he grabbed her wrist. "What are you doing tonight?"

"I was planning on heading home, I'm kind of tired," she let him hold onto her wrist for a moment before pulling away reluctantly.

"Maybe I could buy you some tea? Or coffee I suppose if that's what you prefer."

"I've had a hard day, I'm kind of ready to go pity myself," she said, not knowing why she continuously tried to decline his advances.

"Than a drink perhaps," He raised an eyebrow and for a fleeting moment he thought she would say yes, but her eyes flickered to the left of him where a subway station sat and he knew the answer. "Don't worry about it, you don't have to say yes," he sighed.

"I'm sorry George, it's just been a really terrible day," Brody sighed, wishing that he didn't look quite so rejected.

"No, its ok, really, I'll just have to stalk you again tomorrow," he joked and she laughed in spite of herself. "I hope your night gets better," he waved awkwardly and turned, mentally kicking himself for not attempting a hug or some sort of physical interaction.

"Wait George," Brody called after he had gotten a few feet away, she rushed after him and he turned towards her. "Let me give you my phone number," he raised an eyebrow. "You know, just in case you get lost again while you're out here," she added hastily and he smiled knowingly.

"Of course, no ulterior motives what so ever," he chuckled.

"Do you want it or not Mr. London?" she chided, halting from searching her bag for a pen.

"I wasn't complaining!" She pulled a pen from her bag and grabbed his hand, it was calloused and rough but still warm and slightly sweaty, as if he was nervous. She wrote her number quickly across the back of it, the black ink contrasting sharply with his ivory skin.

"So, just give me a call then, you know, if you need directions or something."

"Right, for directions." He nodded laughing slightly.

"Ok, well have a good night then," she said with a nod and waited for him to turn but he didn't.

"Um, Brody," he said after a moment. "Can I have my hand back?"

"Oh, right, sorry about that," she blushed a deep red that clashed with her piercings, making her look like a little girl that was playing some sort of punk rock dress up.

"Sweet dreams Brody," George said, backing away.

"Have a goodnight Mr. London," she smiled as he turned his back and disappeared into the night.

He began walking, and with some hope to see her before he had gone too far, he turned around. The corner that he left her on was empty, however, she must have walked quickly, he thought, it was as if she had disappeared into thin air. The excitement that he had felt at her arrival subsided quickly, allowing his original glum mood to overtake him again. Besides three hours of getting lost on the subway and watching a homeless man play what looked like a piano but emitted animal noises, his day had been uneventful. He supposed that if he was more like his father who could spend hours marveling at anything muggle made he would have enjoyed it, but he had only confirmed that the muggle world was unnecessarily complicated, boring, and smelled funny. He did not feel like continuing his stay in America but going home would be so much worse.

In three years, the family had changed more than he was comfortable with. Percy had become a sort of leach which followed each of them around incessantly, as if in an attempt to make up for lost time and a sort of apology for the pain that he had caused the family. He could usually be seen helping his mother with chores or holding her during her daily crying spells. George had never been close to Percy but it seemed like a waste of talent and ambition for him to have quit his job at the ministry and instead work at Flourish and Blotts so that he could be closer to his family.

George had gotten his personal fill of Percy within the first six months after the battle of Hogwarts. He kept apologizing to him, as if he had been the one that had thrown the curse that killed Fred. He felt responsible for his death and George never made any attempt to assure him otherwise. As much as Ginny had chastised him for it, he blamed Percy for Fred's death. It was much easier to find a person to hate for it as if it had been a premeditated action as opposed to a simple battle casualty.

Ginny was the only person in the family that really talked to George very much, she seemed to be the only one that could stand the change from the playful joking to the sarcastic, sometimes cruel wit that he now spoke constantly. She had changed though herself and it seemed that some of her independence and strength had left when she had started seriously dating Harry. It wasn't as if she was some sort of subservient girlfriend, but he had once regarded her as much like a boy in her reckless nature and crude humor, he now thought of her for the first time as a little sister who was capable of getting her heart broken by some boy.

It also didn't help that she constantly insisted that Harry and George attempt to be friends again. After an embarrassing incident when George had walked into Ginny's room without knocking, his protective brother instinct had caused him to rip the naked boy off of his sister and break his nose before promptly throwing him and his clothes out of the house. George was happy that his parents had been vacationing for the week because he shuddered to think what they would have done to both him and Ginny for the incident. Harry had tried to apologize to him once he had gotten over the anger of it but George had refused the apology and disliked him since. Ginny hadn't talked to him for a week after that and it had caused a substantial row between Harry and Ron as well.

Ron had been a bit off since his marriage with Hermione four months ago and had taken to almost pitying George, constantly telling him that he would find a mate someday, even when the topic of Hermione hadn't been brought up. He thought Ron a great prat for this and did not hesitate to tell him so. Ron just would shake his head, pat his brother on the back and walk away. He no longer fought back when George insulted him, just looked at him with that same expression, as if he felt like it would be wrong to insult his twinless brother. Sometimes he would try to get George to talk about what he was feeling, no doubt because Hermione made him, but the conversations always ended with Ron being told to stick something in an uncomfortable place and tell George how that feels.

The family had allowed George to be a melancholy ass hole for the past three years, never wanting him to bring up Fred's death when they reprimanded him for something that he had said. So he had grown apart from them, spending less time at home, less time at the shop, and more time with whatever bottle and company he could get.

His relationship with Alicia Spinnet had brought a bit of happiness to his life, given him somebody stable to hold onto for six months. She soon grew tired of his personality change, however, and after an attempt at getting him to seek help for what she called depression and alcohol abuse, had left him, putting him back in the same position he was before.

No, while America was boring, it was much better than home at this point. In America he didn't have the pitying back pats and the knowing glances from his concerned peers. In America he wasn't asked occasionally to tell the story of that night. But most of all, in America, he had a room that wasn't also occupied by an empty bed, still imprinted with form of his fallen comrade, his best friend, his brother.

He tried to not think about how lonely he was as he wandered the street, brightly lit by the many lamps that surrounded him. When he thought about that, he thought about Fred, and the cycle started over again, resulting in a bottle and a hangover. He instead turned his attention to Brody, the only person he had talked to since he had arrived in this country, but while these thoughts were pleasant, he soon passed a pair of young, brunette twins who were pulling at each others hair with their tiny toddler hands, screaming at one another, and he was pushed back into his melancholy state. His destination now became numbness and he ducked into the first bar that he found, quickly devouring a shot of rum.

----------------------------------------------

When Brody apparated into the kitchen of her dingy studio apartment, she was still kicking herself for not joining George for the night. She liked him, but that is what scared her. Ever since Ayden had walked out on her sister because he couldn't deal with her condition, Brody had vowed to never date, never marry, never let a man get under her skin and break her as he had done to Ametti. To her it seemed easier to live alone than in constantly wondering weather her heart would be broken that day.

She ached to think of Ametti- Ametti who had taught her how to hold a wand, who had read her bed time stories, who had enchanted her stuffed animals to move and make her laugh when she was sick. Ametti, who was now becoming a muggle because her mother's jealousy and curiosity had ruined her forever. A nausea filled her stomach at the thought of her mother- her mother who had ruined the life of her husband and her daughter, her mother who had- no, it was too hard for her to think about, too twisted. Her mother was sick, sick in the head. She was a terrible person.

The old emotions of unendurable anger and pain filled her once again and Brody was fully awake, knowing that any attempt at sleep would result in her sitting for hours in the dark, rolling he details over in her mind and stewing in her own bad mood, making it worse. No, what she needed was something that made her stop thinking, something that made her stop feeling. She knew that she had been resorting to this too much lately, but it was so much easier to be numb than to be constantly thinking about it.

She dialed the number quickly, knowing that he would answer, he always answered, and after a hurried conversation she left the house in the direction of his house only three streets away.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: The language gets a little worse in this one and there are some drug references, hence the rating so don't get all holy on me. Instead, read and enjoy!**

**REVIEW**

Chapter 5

Brody tried to calm her hands by shoving them in her pockets but they continued to shake violently, a result of the chemicals. Her mouth felt dry and she began to question if that fifth bowl had been a bad idea. The answer was yes, it was a bad idea, as were the four before that and the numerous lines of the powder that Jack had so graciously given for free, realizing that his friend was in another one of her moods. She felt amazing, invincible even, but knew that the come down would be terrible and she would be forced to think about it all once again. That was still hours off though and the cool night air that whipped around her and as she walked with Jack gave her an enjoyable layer of goosebumps.

"Get out and stay out," The deep voice came from an open bar door as an unmistakable red-head was thrown from inside.

"You don't understand though, I need this, I need it," George Weasley slurred, stumbling to his feet, swaying heavily.

"You don't need anything except a shower and some rest," the bartender said gruffly before slamming the door shut.

"George! What are you doing?" Brody asked, rushing to the man who was now trying to open the door again.

"Brody! Oh Brody I'm so happy to see you!" His eyes were wide and he threw his arms around her, letting all of his weight fall onto her.

"A little help here?" She asked, faltering slightly under the body twice as big as her own, and Jack moved quickly to hold George up. "George are you drunk?"

"No, no, I'm mourning," he reassured her but the words ran together and Jack laughed as he allowed the unknown man slump onto him. "Mourning, you see, it makes it okay."

"God George, you reek of alcohol," Brody shook her head as she helped Jack pull the inebriated to a nearby bench.

"How much did you have to drink?" Jack asked between laughs.

"Not enough to numb the pain of loss, get me another one my good man and make it snappy!" George sang, clapping a hand onto Jack's shoulder who turned towards the bar.

"What are you doing?" Brody asked in exasperation.

"Well he wants another one…"

"Get your ass back here, he doesn't need another one, he didn't need the first twelve," she said sternly and Jack shrugged. "George, honey, how far away is your hotel?"

"Brody! Brody have I ever told you that you remind me of my sister?" he was so excited as he swayed there.

"Well considering I just met you this morning, no."

"Well you do Brody, you do. I mean my sister is a slut, I walked in on her with Harry. 'Boy Who Lived', Ha! More like boy who boned my sister! I hate him, I hate him and I'll kill him. But no Brody, no, you aren't a slut, you aren't a slut at all, but still, you and Ginny, Ginny and you, man, it is crazy!" He grabbed her face with both his hands and she couldn't help but laugh as he rambled on. "I have a secret though, a secret. You know how you're not like Ginny, wanna know?" he continued.

"How am I not like Ginny?" she asked with a smirk, still with George's hands on her face.

He peered around nervously and lowered his voice to a whisper, "I don't want to have sex with my sister."

Brody turned a violent shade of red, almost purple, and Jack crumpled to the floor in laughter. George smiled at Brody and raised his eyebrows before pulling her face into a sloppy kiss that she quickly pulled free from and slapped him hard across the face. She immediately regretted it as George's goofy smile fell and his lip quivered slightly. His arms went to his head, pulling it down into his lap and covering it as his body dissolved into shaking sobs.

"Oh god George, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," she said and Jack's laughter stopped as he stared at the fully grown man, sobbing uncontrollably on a public bench. They became very aware that many passing groups were staring and pointing at him.

"No, no, I did it. It's my fault, it's always my fault," George said between sobs, his yells muffled by the fact that his arms were still wrapped tightly around his head.

"We should really get him out of here," Jack said, waving nervously at the staring people. Brody nodded and they each took an arm before heaving him out of the bench.

"Oh I'm so sorry mum, I should have stopped them," George's wails were now fully audible as the two struggled to half-carry, half-drag him in the direction of Jack's apartment a block away. "I wasn't there, I wasn't there. I knew you always loved him more, I knew it. I should have gone, I should have gone."

"Do you have any idea what he's talking about?" Jack huffed.

"Percy you bloody bastard, you should have stopped them. You traitor, you fucking traitor."

"I just met him this morning, how am I supposed to know his entire life story?"

"If you just met him then why are we bothering to carry him a block?"

"Harry, this is your fault. You bring him back Harry, you bring him back and give yourself up!"

"Jack, we couldn't just leave him there, he has nobody to take care of him out here."

"I have nobody to take care of my anywhere. My mum's a bloody drunk! A bloody drunk who won't let me forget that I wasn't good enough by myself!"

"Well you aren't doing much better," Jack said angrily. "Dammit Brody, just because your family is messed up doesn't mean you need to take in every head case that crosses your path."

"Shut up ok? If you don't want to help than you can leave!" Brody hissed as they began pulling George up the stairs to her apartment.

"Stop fighting! Stop fighting everyone! This family can't fight! Fred would be so sad to watch you guys fight, so sad."

"Who's Fred?" Jack asked and Brody shrugged as they reached the second floor landing.

"Fred was the greatest man to ever live! He was brave and strong and smart and funny,"

"Sounds like his boyfriend," he snorted and Brody pushed the entirety of George's weight on him so that she could unlock her door.

"No, no, I'm not gay! I'm not gay!" George said wildly as they pulled him into the small apartment and laid him down on the bed next to the door. "Fred was my brother, no Fred is my brother. He'll always be my brother, my best mate, even if he did die. Best friends since the womb you know, that's how twins are. George and Fred, Gred and Forge, no more!" He dissolved into a new spell of sobbing and curled himself into the fetal position.

"God George, I'm really sorry," Brody said soothingly as she rubbed his shaking back. In a swift motion he reached up, grabbed her hand and pulled him into her so that she was pressed up against him and he had a tight hold on her arm without any intention of letting go. "Help?" she looked at Jack expectantly but he only shrugged.

"This is what you get for being mother to the world."

"Jack! You can't just leave me like this!" she pleaded and he sighed before reaching into his pocket before pulling out a pipe and a baggie. "You're going to smoke now?" she hissed.

"No, he's going to," he began to load a bowl and Brody kicked him.

"You can't get him stoned! He's already messed up enough!"

"Well he's not letting go of you until he relaxes and can you think of any better way to speed up that process?"

Brody's eyes fluttered from Jack, to the bowl, to her hand which was getting soaked as George cried into it, and back to the bowl before sighing, "George honey, we have something that's going to make you feel better, ok?" The sobs quieted slightly and she knew he was listening. "George, we're going to make you feel a little happier, I just need you to give me back my hand and sit up ok?" He sat still for a moment, sniffling, but eventually let go of Brody's hand and they both sat up.

"Here, you do it mother Broderick," Brody shot Jack a scathingly before taking the pipe from him and holding it up to George's trembling lips.

"Ok George, you're just going to inhale as much as you can and hold it for as long as you can ok?" George nodded and Brody lit the pipe. Immediately he started coughing and sent half of the green to the floor.

"God damned drunks," Jack said as he watched what he had paid for mix with dust in the carpet.

"Try not to cough, it's going to hurt a little at first honey," Brody said soothingly as she lit it again and George breathed deeply. The result was almost immediate as his eyelids drooped and the smoke hovered around him, his sobs slowing and eventually stopping. "Feel better?" she asked after helping him with a couple of hits and George smiled peacefully, nodding slowly.

"Good god he's stoned," Jack laughed as he began puffing on the pipe himself.

"Brody," George said softly, leaning into her.

"Yeah?" she asked calmly.

"Brody, I don't feel very good," he said and she watched as he slowly paled and began to tinge with green.

"Trash can now!" she commanded and Jack quickly pulled the bin to his left in front of George's face in time for the stream that came quickly from his mouth.

"Gross! He missed!" Jack said after George had sprayed some on the hands holding the can. He went to wash his hands and came back with a glass of water to clean out George's mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," he said and it looked as if tears threatened to spill again.

"No, no its ok, its ok," Brody assured him. "You just need to sleep ok? Just sleep it off." George nodded and allowed Brody to lay him back on the bed, this time by himself. In a few minutes he was snoring lightly.

"Are you going to be ok if I leave?" Jack asked and Brody nodded, standing from the bed. He pulled the sack of weed from his pocket and tossed it to her. "You're gonna need that," he said and they both laughed.

"Thanks, sorry tonight ended like this," she said and allowed him to pull her into a hug.

"It's cool. Mom duties come first, I understand," she rustled his blond hair playfully. "Have a good night my dear, give me a call if he tries to drunken rape you," he joked before leaving Brody and the sleeping George alone.

She turned towards the tuft of red head that was spread messily on her pillow and sighed before turning off the lights and settling down for a night on the couch.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

When George awoke his head was pounding so furiously that he could hear the warped beating throughout his ears. His body felt heavy and his stomach grumbled angrily, threatening to spill at any time. With great difficulty he opened his eyes and became confused as to where he was. The light in the apartment was low and a clock next to him told him that it was already seven pm. He tried to sit up and look around but decided it was a bad idea and collapsed once again into the strange bed, his eyes shut as to stop the room from spinning. He wanted so badly to slip back into sleep but the pounded in his head wouldn't allow it so he lay curled up with his eyes closed.

A loud pop came from behind him. The unmistakable pop of somebody apparating and his eyes snapped open. He sat bolt upright and looked around, trying to ignore how dizzy the motion had made him. Through fuzzy vision he saw Brody looking at him in shock and he blinked furiously to clear his vision.

"Oh, you're up," she said quickly, trying to sound calm.

"What was that noise?" he asked, realizing that opening his mouth was a bad idea.

"What noise?" she asked quickly her eyes shifting suspiciously.

"That pop, what was that popping?"

"The door closing you mean?" she said, thinking quickly. "I just got home from work."

"That pop was the door?" he asked and she nodded furiously. "Are you- oh, never mind." He said as he lay back down, resolving that the loss of his ear mixed with the hangover had just made him hear things. This girl was a muggle, there was no way that she was apparating.

"How are you feeling?" he heard and felt the bed sink slightly as Brody sat next to him.

"Has the room stopped spinning yet," he groaned, his eyes still shut.

"I was never aware that it started."

"There's your answer." He smiled when he heard her laugh. It was a softer laugh than he had ever heard from her, the only sound that hadn't hurt his head up to this point. He opened his eyes slightly and saw that Brody was leaning over him slightly, her eyes pointed out the window to his right. She wasn't wearing any make up and the angle mixed with the poor lighting to make her piercings less noticeable. It all gave her a very pretty affect and he opened his eyes fully to see more of it. He liked the way her hair was pulled up in a messy pony tail instead of laying all over her face as it had been the previous day. The view was very nice but a nagging question wouldn't allow him to enjoy it fully.

"Brody?" he asked and she answered with a simple "Hmmm?", never moving her eyes from the window. "How did I get here?"

She looked down at him quickly and started laughing uncontrollably. He really wished that she would stop because not only was she embarrassing him slightly, but her body was shaking the bed, giving him a terribly queasy feeling. "Well you see, when two people really love each other-"

"What? Stop that and answer me," he said with frustration and she calmed herself.

"Oh god George you were so drunk last night, it was ridiculous," she looked down and was met with his wide eyes. "My friend and I found you outside a bar, rambling about silly things, barely able to stand."

"Oh no, what was I saying?" he groaned, his face turning red.

"Oh just nonsense about your family. Ginny is a slut, you hate Harry, Percy is a trader, your mother is a drunk, Fr-" she caught herself before she said the name that had caused so much crying the night before.

It was too late however and she watched as George closed his eyes once again and stuffed his head farther into the pillow. "If you wouldn't mind, I would appreciate if you forgot last night," he said softly and she looked at him, slightly concerned.

"Don't worry about it," she said and he felt her move from the bed. The sound of pots and pans could be heard from somewhere to his left side and an oddly familiar smell filled his nostrils. His thoughts swam and he was filled with memories of a week when he and Fred had caught a stomach virus at the age of eight and had spent hours at a time groaning on the couch for their mother to make their stomachs feel better. She had made them some sort of tea, it tasted terrible but it had worked at settling their stomachs. He didn't know where the memory came from but the smell coming from the kitchen now had somehow triggered it.

A loud hissing sound came from the kitchen and the smell changed, mingled with something sweeter, something else that he recognized but couldn't quite put a finger on. He thought hard and came up with a fuzzy memory of second year potions, over ten years ago, when he and Fred were supposed to be making an anti headache potion. They had quickly gotten bored, as they usually did in Snape's class, and mixed in a few extra spoonfuls of ground lionfish spine just to see what would happen. It had turned the sweet smelling purple elixir into a gritty brown syrup with an even sweeter smell and taste and a laxative effect. This potion had somehow gotten into the Slytherin breakfast syrup the next morning and he and Fred were in detention every night for a month after Snape had figured out who it was.

George's heart panged with the memories but he couldn't help but smile. He had nearly forgotten these two bits of time that he had spent with his brother, they had previously seemed so insignificant during his first three years of mourning that they had never entered his mind.

"Here, sit up," he heard Brody's voice, once again over him and he opened his eyes. She had turned on the lights, which burned his eyes, and was standing over him with a steaming mug. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, his head swimming painfully as he willed himself not to vomit. "Drink this, it will make you feel better." She handed him the mug- which he noticed was chipped slightly- and it warmed his hands.

He had no idea why this girl who had seemed so defensive, so closed off at first, was being so kind to him suddenly. Perhaps she had a soft spot for drunks, perhaps she did this to everyone that came to her for help, perhaps she was really poisoning him with this tea. He wasn't sure what it was but he appreciated they way she bit her lip as she gazed at him, waiting for him to drink, the way she hadn't had the heart to say Fred's name because she was afraid of upsetting him. He had only known the girl for a day, but already she seemed more genuine than most people he had known in his entire life, as if she would never have the heart to lie to anyone, let alone him. This quality alone made him trust that there was definitely not poison in the cup that he held so he put it up to his lips and drank as quickly as he could without burning himself.

His mind swarmed as the taste hit his mouth, holding more memories than the smell had. Was that lionfish spine? No, it couldn't be, muggles wouldn't use that in a tea. Did they use dittany though? He was sure that what he tasted was dittany. It tasted more like the potions that his mother gave him for illness than any sort of tea he had ever drank, but muggles didn't make potions and this girl- this girl with her innocent eyes and metal filled skin, her dancing skirt and her angry way of talking- this girl was a muggle, she had to be a muggle. He knew she was a muggle but there was a slight apprehension in his mind when he thought this.

He soon drained the mug and the potion- no the tea, he told himself, muggles don't make potions- the tea had warmed his stomach and coated it, easing the nausea to non-existence. His swirling thoughts and vision had even began to clear as the beating in his ears was muffled and eventually silenced. Brody watched him expectantly until he had finished the contents of the mug and the color returned to his face. She smiled at him and without a single word, took the mug from him and took it into the kitchen.

As he watched her back retreat from him, he could no longer keep quiet about the questions tugging at his brain.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked, his voice cutting the silence of the apartment. She stopped moving but didn't turn around, just kept looking away from him as she stood still and silent at the kitchen sink. He watched as her shoulders shrugged and her head shook, still never turning to look at him.

"Well, honestly George, I like to find tourists with alcohol problems and take care of them," she said dryly and he smirked at her sarcasm, knowing it was payback for everything he had said the day before. "It's how I personally get my kicks."

"Well, as long as I can support your pastime," he responded and she turned, her smile matching the one that he wore. "But really, I feel like for the past twenty four hours I have been burdening you. You just met me and you're already playing doctor and giving up your bed."

"Oh don't think you're getting that bed tonight," she said, avoiding his question, and even more so avoiding the answer that was circling in her head. She refused to be attracted to anyone, especially anyone that was such a horrible drunk and would be leaving in a week. "Either you're sleeping on the couch or you're not sleeping here at all." She added but the words startled herself even. She had meant to say that he wasn't to stay there at all, but the bit about the couch had slipped out unconsciously, as if a part of her that she kept trying to repress didn't want him to leave, it preferred him just where he was.

He seemed slightly shocked by this as well but it only widened the grin on his face as he believed it somehow confirmed his suspicions that this girl- who had to be at least three years his junior- had taken to fancying him, if only slightly. "You never answered my question," he said softly, after a moment of silence where Brody sat back down on the corner of the bed as far from him as she could get.

Her eyes didn't seem to meet his as she paused for her answer and her mouth opened and closed a few times before emitting any sound at all, as if she was choosing her words carefully. "Well it's not like you really left me any choice," she said finally and his smile wavered slightly. "I mean, yesterday morning you were so lost, and than you basically forced me to go to breakfast-"

"You can't say you didn't enjoy it."

"I didn't say that. You just pestered me until I said yes," it was a point that he couldn't deny. "And last night, well last night I couldn't just leave you to be that drunk on the streets. You would have been arrested." Her eyes shifted slightly and he knew that there was something that she wasn't saying. He supposed this was her prerogative- after all- they barely knew each other at all. "And now, well now I expect you to be very hung over so I'm not going to require that you try to find your way back to your hotel because you will undoubtedly get lost."

"I think you know as well as I do that the tea you gave me has made me feel well enough to make it back to the hotel just fine," he spoke knowingly and saw her turn a light pink.

"Oh, well, it usually doesn't work that fast," she lied. "But if you're feeling up to it, than you are free to go."

"Do you want me to go?" he asked, his brown eyes searching her green ones for some sort of an answer.

"George I don't care. You're just some rand-" He surprised both her and himself when he pressed his lips against hers, interrupting what she was saying. It was not the same sloppy, forceful kiss from the night before, but a soft, warm pressure which sent a tingle down her spine. He pulled away just as quickly as he came and a slight blush crept up from his neckline.

Her mind didn't process a single thought aside from that this was the only kiss that she had ever believed so fully in her life, how this boy- no this man- who now sat, trying to avoid blushing, was the only person that had ever kissed her with sort of gentle passion- an odd thing from someone she had only known for a day. She didn't want it to end, so pushed her lips back onto his, her eyes closing blissfully as her body warmed and tingled once again. One arm snaked around her waist as the other found her neck, rubbing it in small circles and sending shivers down her spine. She allowed him to slowly lay her on the bed next to him, pulling her towards him close.

George felt his body shiver slightly with excitement as her fingers moved their way through his shaggy hair, massaging his scalp. His tongue played with one of the rings hanging from her lips, and she giggled softly, a lovely sound that made him only want to kiss her more and elicit more sounds from her. He brushed his fingers across her skin which was cool and smooth- smoother than he had imagined- and it goose bumped under his caress.

She moved her lips from his and began rubbing them across his neck, moving up to right ear, leaving a trail of kisses in its wake. A groan escaped his lips but it was not one of pleasure as much as disappointment. He could no longer feel her lips and he wished heartily that she had chosen his very real left ear to kiss and not the prosthetic that he had fashioned for himself. He felt the skin underneath the fake extremity pull slightly and knew that she must be nibbling it, a sensation he wished that he could feel as he had grown to like it very much. She continued this and as the skin pulled, he felt something give way and an unmistakable feeling that made his eyes shoot open and his heart stop. The ear had fallen off. It took Brody only a moment to realize what had happened and she opened her eyes to see the ear sitting inches away from the hole in the side of George's head where it had previously been.

For the first time in the past four years, George was grateful that he couldn't hear out of his right side because the scream that escaped her lips at that moment was quite loud enough with only one working ear. The terrified look on her face sent George into a panic and without a single word, he disapparated with a sharp pop, leaving Brody and the prosthetic ear back in the apartment.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It took Brody nearly a full three minutes of staring at the spot that George had disappeared from to fully process what had just happened. His ear had fallen off, no, it had been pulled off. She burned with shame and disgust with the thought of this, wishing that she had not nibbled, not gone for the spot that all men loved. She couldn't help it however, and the thing that lay under the ear was far more odd than the ear falling off itself. There was no nasty scar or any blood or sinew, no sign of any sort of marred, broken flesh. No, instead there was a hole, a black, gaping, seemingly endless void in the side of his head. The only thing she had seen like this was when a boy in her seventh grade Magical History class had his middle finger cursed off by a fellow student, leaving the same sort of black hole in his flesh. _No, it couldn't have been cursed off_, she tried to tell herself but she knew the truth- the undeniable truth that had been confirmed when he had disappeared with that unmistakable _pop_.

George Weasley had his ear cursed off. George Weasley had disapparated right before her eyes. George Weasley was unmistakably a wizard.

Her head swam quickly, moving through emotions and thoughts at such an alarming speed that it was hard for her to fully make connections. She was angry with him, why hadn't he told her? But no, she couldn't be angry, for she had not told him. They had simply thought the other muggles. But she should have known when he recognized the sound of her apparating earlier, she was so right in thinking that he had recognized it. He had been wary of taking the potion too, wary because he recognized the ingredients but couldn't understand why. Econolodge, Econolodge. What in the world was the Econolodge and why did it still stick out in her mind? It hit her soon enough though, it was the entrance to the Majestic, the five-star wizarding lodge. Not only was George Weasley a wizard, but a rich wizard at that.

Tearing her mind from the thoughts that slid quickly in and out of focus, she turned toward the ear that still sat on her pillow as if some relic of a terrible splinching. She poked it warily, as if it was some sleeping animal that she did not care to awake. When certain that it wasn't going to jump at her, she picked it up gingerly and held it close to her eyes to examine it. It was made out of the same mix of mandrake root and latex that they had made the fingerless boy's prosthetic out of. Around the edge that connected to the head she saw that it held the sticky residue of a very badly cast permanent-sticking charm- George must have attempted to seal it to himself, something that never turned out well.

For a moment she let herself wish that George was still sitting next to her but she immediately pushed the thought out of her mind, chastising herself for it. Boys were only trouble, boys were only lies and deceptions and betrayal and heartache. As far as she knew, in the twenty four hours that she had known him, George had only managed to lie to her, not that she had expected him to wave his wizardry like a proud flag while she herself was living in the world of the muggles. She didn't know what to think about him or even if she wanted to be thinking about him at all.

_But that kiss, that kiss was wonderful_ her mind pressed and she shook her head as an annoying pain over her right eye formed. She looked down and upon realizing that she was still holding the ear, put it down on her bedside table before laying down herself, suddenly realizing that while it was only nine thirty at night, she was very tired.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

George continued to pace up and down the path that he had been working on for the past ten minutes. Upon apparating into his hotel room he had found an owl tapping angrily at his window. For a brief moment he had thought that it was a letter from the ministry that was chastising him for using magic around a muggle. This idea was pushed out of his mind, however when he realized that the owl was the pompous and regal pet of Percy's, Hermes. He had outwardly groaned as he wondered what his stupid brother had to tell him this time but soon realized that the handwriting on the envelope was Ginny's, a much more welcome scrawl. The letter had brought him no comfort though, as he had hoped, and it was now clutched in his hand, half crumpled in his tight grip. He smoothed it out and began reading it for what felt like the hundredth time.

_George,_

_It was very stupid of you to leave without telling mom where you had gone, she's worried herself so horribly that she now has a terrible head cold and she won't let any of us take care of her. You really need to write her and make sure to tell her where you are so that she can calm down. Keeps talking about how she already lost one and now the other has run away and will no doubt end up dead._

_The shop saw a decent boost in business over the past couple of days, lots of mail order from Hogwarts. Perhaps they have it out for the new headmaster. There is one problem though, we are out of Peruvian Instant darkness Powder and Dr. Harriz won't talk to anyone but you about purchasing another shipment, something about a contract that you and Fred signed with him to monopolize the market for it. My name wasn't on that agreement so he refuses to talk to me._

_I was also wondering, since you haven't lived in the apartment over the shop for a couple of years, could I possibly move in? Harry and I are planning on moving in together and were hoping for something close to London so that he is near work. He and Ron should be finishing auror training within the next two months and their reports just came yesterday saying that they had received top marks in everything. Well, Ron didn't do as well in disguising, you know how awful it is to cover up Weasley hair and freckles. Not to mention that massive nose he'd have to cover._

_Hermione sends her love and said she hoped that credit card thing is working out for her. She also wanted to remind you that her book was being released today. I think she just wants you to go to the closest bookstore and make everyone buy it. I really think you should go pick it up at least, you were, after all, the only person that refused to read the original manuscript._

_Victoire has been asking for her uncle George, you know you are her favorite. I wish you had told people other than me, Hermione, and Ron, the family is going crazy with worry because you had to be stupid and immature._

_I don't know what you're looking for out there, and I don't know if you've found it or anything at all, but come home George. Stop looking and come home. Its time for you to stop running._

_All my love,_

_Ginny_

George seethed. How dare she tell him that he was being stupid and immature, what right did she have to tell him what to do? Mother was always sick lately, not something that she couldn't pull herself out of. Victoir had four other uncles to play with and it was probably in her best interest that she wasn't playing with random things from the joke shop for the next week. Where in the world did Ginny get the audacity to ask if she and that boy could live in the apartment that he and Fred had bought together? That was their space, their home, even if it had gone into disuse over the past three years.

With a single motion he crumpled the letter and threw it into the empty fire grate.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Brody groaned as she looked at the pile of books that had just fallen off of the shelf, knocked by the group of teenagers that had just run out of the store. She really hated her job on the weekends when all of those brats came, fresh from a week of school and ready to blow their money on anything that would efficiently make their professors and enemies miserable. She couldn't deny that she had been one of those kids though, and thought fondly of the time that she had bewitched a pair of shoes to follow her ex-boyfriend around, kicking him in the head.

Laughing to herself, she turned her attention towards the books that she was putting back onto the shelf. They were thick and a deep, shiny blue with the picture of the top half of a face. A face with dazzling green eyes, messy black hair, and a lightening bolt shaped cut on the forehead. _The Boy Who Lived by H. J. Granger-Weasley._ It was the same book that she had spent over an hour unpacking a shelving on Sunday. She had looked at that cover thousands of times but now she saw something that held her interest. The author's name was Weasley.

Flipping quickly, she found the About the Author page, where a waving, smiling picture of a young girl, only about nineteen or twenty, with bushy brown hair. She skimmed the biography but there was no mention to George and Brody wrote it off as a coincidence, continuing to push the books back onto the shelf.

"Excuse me, but may I have one of those before you shelf it," The familiar voice made her turn around quickly and the owner wore the same shocked expression that she was sure she was wearing. "Brody? What are you doing here?"

It had been four days since George had disappeared so suddenly from her apartment but now, here he stood, wide-eyed and freckled as ever. His head seemed lop-sided now that it was missing an ear and she felt guilty as she realized that it was still sitting on her bedside table.

"I work here," she said and a dawning of realization ran over George's features.

"You're a witch! I knew it!" he said just a bit louder than he had intended, causing many people standing around to stare at them. "Why didn't you say something about it?" he asked, lowering his voice.

"I thought you were a muggle," she answered. "Your ear is still at my house by the way."

George burned scarlet. "Right, that. Well, um, sorry for uh, disappearing that night. You have to understand the awkwardness of the situation."

"Of course I do, I was there and all."

There was a tinkling from the front of the store and Brody recognized it as the notification that somebody was ready to check out. She began moving her way to the desk which she saw had not one but three people standing in front of it expectantly.

"Look, I know it was weird and all, but I would like to see you again before I leave." George stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"Right, well, I'm a busy person and you are supposed to be leaving tomorrow so unfortunately I don't foresee that happening." Her lack of height allowed her to duck underneath his arm as she pushed one of the books into his chest and moved behind the counter before he had a chance to stop her.

"I don't understand why you're avoiding me, I thought that we really kicked it off those couple of days," he asked, leaning in front of the old, grumpy witch that she was helping. The woman shot him a reproachful glance but he didn't choose to notice.

"George you were passed out for half of that on my bed," she said with annoyance as she reached around him to grab the stack of books that the woman was holding out.

"Ah yes, but I did get into your bed on the first night, a feat accomplished by few," he winked at her and she stifled a laugh with a roll over her eyes.

"That's going to be 3 galleons, 2 sickles, and a knut," She said, handing the bulging package to the annoyed witch.

"That much? I didn't even touch you that night!" George said with an even wider smile.

"George, I'm working right now, if you want to talk to me you need to purchase something." Brody sighed as she took the woman's money and gave her change.

"Righto!" he said holding up the book and waving it in her face.

"Ok, now step behind the five people that were here before you," she pointed to where three more people had joined the line. He looked as if he was about to say something but instead smiled and moved to the back of the line.

She tried to ignore him as she helped the customers in front of him but he was constantly waving and making faces at her and she couldn't help but laugh, something that seemed to egg him on more. The other customers seemed annoyed though, especially the woman in front of him who he kept knocking as he pulled his arm up and down frantically.

"Right, so finishing the previously started conversation," he spoke as if there hadn't been a twenty minute period where he had stood in line trying to get her attention. "I realize that the ending to our last meeting wasn't the most, um, well desireable but I think there was a chemistry that can not be ignored. Let's have dinner."

"Six sickles," she said, unmoved as she wrapped his book.

"I could come by after you get off work, there's a café down the street that looks promising," He handed her the money and smiled at her expectantly.

"I don't get off until eight, and I have a paper to write."

"It's Saturday, you have all of tomorrow."

"I'm busy George, I'm sorry, have a nice trip home."

"Damn it Brody, why are you avoiding me?" he asked, dropping his flirtatious demeanor. "I've only known you for a week and you've changed the way you treat me about twenty times. You help me than you avoid me than you take care of me while I'm drunk than you enjoy my oral area and now you avoid me. I realize that Tuesday night ended a bit oddly but honestly Brody, what the hell?"

"George, you're just some random guy that I met that's leaving tomorrow, why does it matter that you see me tonight?" She tried to ignore the people that were lining up behind him.

"You're different than most girls I meet back at home, Brody," he said frankly. "You're attractive but you don't know it, you're intelligent, you're funny, and you are willing to help the random drunk stranger that seems to follow you around. I like that about you. I'm interested in you and I have no desire to go back home any time soon. Maybe I'll stay another week or so just to see what happens between us."

"Nothing is happening between us George," she said with exasperation as she tried to quell the butterflies in her stomach that seemed to flutter with every compliment he gave her.

"Well it's not if you keep avoiding me like this. Just come to dinner with me to night? What could it hurt? If anything its just a free meal."

She thought carefully for a moment, trying to ignore how cute he looked even with a missing ear.

"And if I agree to go will you leave me alone?"

"Of course."

"Fine. I get off at eight, meet me here," she sighed as his face broke into a wide grin.

"Fantastic. I'll see you soon doll!" He winked at her and apparated away with a loud pop, leaving her to deal with about seven very annoyed, very impatient customers.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Brody's boss found it very odd that she, a girl who had always come to work in a t-shirt and jeans without a second thought, had returned from her break dressed in a tea length black dress and heels. That for the first time in the year that she had known her, she seemed to have washed her hair, and that she was wearing eye make-up that wasn't just a layer of heavy black eyeliner. She also kept looking expectantly at the clock- something that she never did, as she usually left work about an hour after she was scheduled to, simply because she liked her job so much. But Brody wouldn't even admit to herself that her heart was pounding happily and her stomach was turning with excitement at the prospect of seeing George Weasley again. She would never allow herself to say that the fact that George persisted, even among her many refusals, to take her out and spend time on her was something that she found very attractive. No, because to admit that she might like this boy with the missing ear and the perverted humor might mean that she was vulnerable to the problems that affection could bring, the problems that she had sworn herself against for the past two years.

When the clock struck eight, dinging dully from the potions section, Brody bid farewell to her boss faster than she ever had and spent sometime in front of the mirror fixing her appearance before walking towards the door. As she stepped outside she saw George, grinning happily in a pair of pinstriped pants and a buttoned shirt, his ear offset by a black fedora that sat slightly tilted on his head.

"Nice hat," she smirked as she approached him.

"Yes well, I like to whip it out on special occasions," he smiled bowing slightly as she became level with him. "Also, it seems that my extremity is still residing at your house, making my head rather lopsided you see."

"Oh, right, I'm so sorry about that," she burned scarlet.

"No worries, if you honestly want to keep it I suppose that's ok, bit odd really, but ok. Would give you something to nibble on when you're lonely I suppose." She shoved him slightly. "Consider it a gift."

"A bit Van Gogh wouldn't you say?" she smiled at her own wit but was met with a confused look.

"Van who?"

"A muggle artist, he cut off his ear and sent it to a girl," George looked disgusted.

"Not exactly the best with the ladies was he? Well, I guess it works for some people," he shrugged and Brody laughed.

The laughter continued through dinner and the long walk back to Brody's apartment- an unnecessary one that they could have avoided easily by apparating but for some unspoken reason they both decided to walk. The easy conversation and subtle hand brushes played between them as if they had known one another much longer than they actually did. There were giggles and tiny flirtations characteristic of eighth graders but much too innocent for their age. For that time, the two seemed to forget their broken families, their responsibilities and anything else that had previously plagued them. They only thought and cared of each other, a nice change from the haunting pasts they both dealt with. There was no kissing, no groping like the first night they had spent together- just the occasional grasping of hands and caress. They talked nothing of their lives and only of their thoughts, sharing opinions and anecdotes, theories and musings.

One dinner turned into a breakfast and a lunch, an entire day spent together in which Brody missed class for the first time ever and turned off her phone to avoid calls from Jack.

"And right now," Brody said glancing at her watch. "I'm supposed to be sitting in class, talking about Gandhi."

"But instead you're here, because you are a raging young hooligan," George said, leaning over the Central Park bridge and throwing more bread in for the ducks that were milling about in the water below.

"Yeah, something like that I suppose," she laughed.

She looked around and her eyes fell upon a family that was standing about fifty yards away on the path that circled the pond. The youngest was a tiny girl who was four years old at the most and clinging to an ice cream cone almost as big as her own head. Her mother lovingly played with the girl's hair for a moment before turning back to kiss her husband. Brody's heart ached at the sight, once again awoken to the problems she had ignored for the past twenty four hours.

As she watched, the girl moved to lick her ice cream, pushing it much harder than she had meant. The ball of melting sweet had been perched precariously on the sugar cone and could not withstand the force of the tiny tongue, falling helplessly to the floor. The girl, shocked at first, stared at the ice cream a moment before beginning to wail. Her parents had been in deep conversation and did not turn to her right away as she turned away from her dessert to them, tugging at her mother's hand as she continued to wail. Yet as her parents turned to see what was wrong, the little girl pointed to the empty sugar cone and her parents could not see what was wrong. The little girl's eyes widened as she saw that the cone was no longer empty but the ice cream now sat on top again, twice as big as it had been before. Brody pulled her eyes from the family to George who was busy putting something back in his pocket, avoiding her eye.

"Did you-," she started and he shrugged.

"I can't stand watching little girls cry," he said, much too sheepishly for his loud personality.

She shook her head in disbelief before her lips broke into a smile. Letting her body move towards his, she grasped his hand lightly in hers, burying her own tiny palm in his large one. Their gaze never broke as she moved towards him, hesitating slightly before pressing her lips against his, standing on her tip toes so that she could reach him.

--------------------------------------------------

The sterile white of the hospital was shocking in comparison to the deep dusk of outdoors that she had just left. The visit was unplanned and unwelcome. She hated the place almost as much as the reason why she had to enter it so often and the love for her sister only made her more uneasy about the cold, impersonal feeling that she got from the place. But the letter that had been sitting on her bed when she got home had prompted the visit.

The familiar seal on the stark white envelope had ripped her from the arms of George who she had been wrapped around the entire journey home from the park. She had moved from him so quickly that he had stumbled slightly, confused, but she didn't notice as she ripped open the letter and scanned the words quickly. The words "emergency" and "your presence immediately" jumped from the page and she muttered a hurried apology and goodbye to George. She practically pushed him out of the apartment, slamming the door in his angrily confused face, and had turned on the spot, allowing the air to compress tightly in her lungs before appearing with a loud pop in a dark alleyway beside the hospital.

She moved to the all too familiar desk, a mental struggle going on in her mind. It had been terrible for her to leave George so shortly after the time they had spent together, to give no explanation for what was happening. Yet, it was also stupid for her to have gotten so caught up with him that she hadn't stopped to deal with her own responsibilities, to check up on her sister's condition. It was her fault for letting her guard down- for letting him charm her. She had promised herself that she would never fall into the same lust blinded situation that Ametti had fallen into, and yet she had, only to be woken awake so abruptly by the harshness of her real life.

"Ms. Broderick, you should have been here hours ago," the cold exterior of the desk witch had melted into a fearful nervousness. Her hands shook as she stood and Brody couldn't help but notice that a putrid smelling, orange salve had been smeared across them. She did not allow for Brody's answer before moving through the door, carefully pushing it with her shoulders instead of her hands, which she held at her sides in a pained position.

Brody's heart raced as she waited for what felt like an hour for the witch to return. When she finally did, it was with a sight that Brody wished had never come. Dr. Emrys' hair was completely gone, replaced instead with the same orange salve that had covered the witch's hands. It spread down his right cheek, just before his white robes which were blackened and singed badly, revealing the white tee shirt underneath. He shook slightly as he squinted at her through is left eye, his glasses removed and his right swollen shut.

"Elisa there has been an accident, a terrible accident," He spoke quickly, his voice shaking. "I need you to follow me."

Brody tried to resist the horrific images of her sister's charred figure that kept popping into her head but as they walked on in silence for a moment she could not, her heart beating faster with every step.

"You're sister had slept much later than she normally did today, she didn't rise until around noon and even then we noticed a change. Her breathing had gone short and her shakes had come back terribly, we knew it was due to her being without medicine for over twelve hours," he spoke quickly as they moved through the familiar halls. "We tried to give her the potion but she refused to take it, acted rather childish really. We decided that we would have to administer it by forced injection. Yet, when we attempted to do this well-,"

Brody took a moment to realize that they were standing in front of her sister's room, or at least what was left of it. Blackened and smoky, it looked as if it had been involved in a small explosion. Furniture was strewn and splintered across the melted carpet. The only sign of life in the room was a single, splayed hand print on the wall above where the bed had once been. It looked as if the owner had been gripping the wall for their life, leaving a perfectly white shape amongst the charred black.

"I myself was injured but not as badly as the two nurses that were attempting to administer the potion," Emrys started again as Brody stared helplessly at the wreckage. "They have both been transferred to the burn unit where they sit in intensive care."

"And Ametti?" Brody asked, tears in her eyes as she waited for the inevitable answer.

"I'm sorry?" Emrys asked, stunned.

"Ametti! How is my sister? Is she okay? Is she-," she couldn't not bring herself to finish the sentence.

"Ms. Broderick, your sister is," He started and Brody inhaled sharply. "Well, apart from a deep mental instability, your sister is completely unharmed."

Brody let her breath out, the knot that had formed in her chest loosening slightly. "I need to see her, where is she?" she asked forcefully.

"It's not advisable ma'am. She is in a state that could-,"

"I need to see my sister!"

"Elisa, I must warn you that it would be very dangerous."

"I don't care how dangerous is it, I need to see her, to let her know that I'm here for her."

Dr. Emrys seemed to think for a moment before answering. "Very well, but I must warn you that this is believed to be a deliberate act." He had begun walking again, turning down a hallway that she had never been down.

"What do you mean deliberate?" she asked, slightly out of breath as she struggled to keep up with his long legs.

"Meaning, we believe that she was fully aware of what she was doing. We have placed her in a cell that will cancel out her ability to do magic."

"A cell? Like a prisoner?"

"No, like a dangerous being," he stopped in front of a thick metal door with a small squared window cut into it. He motioned to the window and timidly, Brody peered into it.

The room was bright yet there was no lamp in it. It was as if the padding which covered the walls, ceiling and floor were glowing, causing the light. A thin figure sat Indian style against the far wall, her blue eyes peering calmly at the window. Ametti's gown was blackened but her body was amazingly unharmed. The only difference in her appearance was the way her mouth stitched into an angry scowl, so uncharacteristic of the sister that Brody knew.

"I'll be waiting out here if anything goes wrong," Dr. Emrys said nervously.

"Wrong?" Brody asked, the knot in her chest tightening again.

"Please just get this over with," he said, and grimaced slightly as he unlocked the door, pulling it open just enough for Brody to squeeze herself inside.

"Ametti?" she asked cautiously as she stepped inside, faltering slightly on the cushioned ground.

"You," the voice that issued from her sister's mouth was not it's normal light tone, but a deep growl that cause shivers to go down Brody's spine.

"Ametti, are you okay?" Brody asked tentatively moving towards the figure until they were only a foot apart.

"This is your fault," Brody now realized that her sister had not looked at her when she had entered, and continued to stare at the window in the door.

"What?"

"You were too stupid, too weak," the voice spoke angrily. "She didn't want your powers because you didn't have any. She didn't feed you it because she didn't think there was anything to break. You were just a stupid squib."

"Am-ametti?" Brody's voice choked as a lump form in the back of her throat.

"She said it would make me smarter, make me better at school. And when the headaches started she said it was normal. She kept feeding it to me. I was just a stupid fifteen-year-old, how should I have known better? Dad had the headaches too. He had the headaches and he was still so good so I thought it was okay. I thought she was telling the truth." Her eyes moved up to meet Brody's, who was startled to see the piercing cold that they held. "And then you started showing. You started showing just in time for school, just in time for your stupid letter. I should have known. I should have known then but I was too happy for you. I loved you so much Elisa Renee Broderick. I would have given everything to you. Everything but that."

"No, no Ametti," Brody shook her head sadly. "It wasn't me, she didn't give it to me. She was taking it."

"Stop lying!" The yell resonated through the small room and tears began spilling down Brody's face. "It's your fault that I'm like this, that I'm not married, that I'm stuck here! You selfish, you horrible, you- you,"

"No Ametti, it wasn't me!" Brody sobbed as her sister stood, her lanky body towering over her. "I would never do that to my sister!"

"You are no sister of mine!" Ametti shrieked. "You are just like her!"

Brody tried to move but Ametti lunged at her too quickly, knocking her backwards into the wall. Her head hit the hardest and the room hazed into a black.


	9. Chapter 9

**Good god this update has been years in the making! I hope some of my old readers are willing to see this still and care about Brody and George and I also hope some new readers have found this story to their liking. The next chapter will be up sooner. PROMISE!**

Chapter 9

Her body shook the entire way home and continued to long after she lay herself down on her bed, staring up at the ceiling with moist eyes and a racing heart. The words of her sister played continuously through her head and while she tried to dispel them from her mind as psychotic ramblings, she couldn't help but wonder if she had been hearing her sister speak lucidly for the first time since her admittance to the hospital. She couldn't bear the thought that these emotions and accusations had been building inside her sweet, caring sister for so long.

A loud pop from right outside her door broke her reverie, followed by a booming knock.

"No, no, go away," she croaked through her dry throat, nowhere near loud enough for her intruder to hear her. The booming knock came again, harder this time as it shook the door slightly. "I'm not here," she whispered to the empty air around her as she curled into a ball- her knees in her chest.

"Brody! I know you're in there!" George's deep voice cracked slightly with worry as it sifted through the door and into her ears. It was more comforting than she had expected. _More comforting than I deserve,_ she thought to herself, pulling her knees tighter to her chest.

"Brody if you don't answer the door I'm breaking it down!" He yelled again over his own pounding fist. He stopped the pounding for a second to try the doorknob and was surprised when it turned at his slightest touch. He stumbled a bit as the door swung open, letting him into the cramped apartment.

"George," Brody's first instinct was to throw him out but a second, much stronger instinct was to watch him take those three strides to her bed and wrap her into his still slightly unfamiliar arms, rocking her onto his warm lap.

"Good god Brody what happened?" he put his lips to her ear and whispered.

A piece of his mind tugged at him, told him to run now. Who was he to comfort this girl he had known for less than a week? And more importantly, who was this little teenage girl to cause him so much pain with her tears which streaked black lines of mascara across her piercings? But he knew all too well this scene. How many nights had he wrapped his arms around the younger girl as she shook in his arms and sobbed? For months he had swallowed his own sorrow to help a teenage girl through hers. This was different then the past times- the hair was deep and dark instead of a fiery mop top and more importantly, looking into _this _girl's face as it writhed in pain caused much more emotion than any brotherly connection ever could.

Brody shook in his arms as a fresh round of sobs racked her chest and left the front of his white t-shirt soaked and see through with salt water. Neither spoke as she was unable to coherently form words and he had no idea what to say. By the time she stirred from this fetal position on his lap, his arms ached and the blood to his legs had long since been cut off, leaving only numb stumps in their place. The moment she stirred, a painful tingling sensation shot down his legs as the blood rushed back into its normal flow. His arms tightened around her protectively without a second thought, as if he wanted this girl to continue writhing helplessly in his lap.

With sore shoulders and an aching hip, Brody pulled herself up to a sitting position on his lap and met his eyes for the first time since leaving him stunned and alone that afternoon. Worry and affection filled his brilliantly deep brown eyes as they locked onto her own green orbs. His too big hand reached up to her cheek, his warm skin burning onto her cold face as his thumb stroked away the last traces of her tears. She inclined her head towards his touch and he moved his fingers to push the hair from her face. A soft sigh broke her lips as he continued to brush his finger through her wild hair, softly working through the knots that framed her face. His other hand continued to trace the same abstract shapes into her lower back that it had been for what felt like hours, but now, it gently pushed under her tank top and created electricity on her bare skin with every touch.

Before she could think twice about it, her arms were around him, knotted in his shaggy hair as she pulled his face to hers, and crushed him with her lips. His response was hesitant, almost scared to hurt her further, but as her lips moved more fervently, his lips matched their pace, opening and closing to join hers in passion. The tip of his tongue traced her lower lip and he could taste the left over salt water on her lips mixed with her natural flavor. He shuddered slightly as her cold hands reached underneath his shirt onto his burning skin, exploring the soft lines of his thin frame, but he only pulled her closer, releasing slightly only as she pulled the shirt over his head.

To her it seemed like their lips never parted. Even through all the panting, his lips were always tingling against her own, ready to return every kiss, every nibble with his own impassioned version. It was never the way either of them had experienced it before. Instead of the natural fumbles of young fingers on young bodies, their experiences mingled and created one mature being, touching and moving in a fashion so perfectly in unison that neither felt like they were doing any of the work, only moving to the flow of their nature as a pair. It was not out of unyielding lust that they acted, but out of an extreme need for release that they both felt from the other. And while neither were clear on the exact stories that left their partners' body empty and aching, they went through every motion to fill the void that left that heart beating irregularly against their smooth skin.

"My sister isn't well," Brody finally said, hours after the panting had ended and they had laid silently next to eachother, George rubbing slow circles into her back once again. After a moment of silence, it became clear that he wasn't going to speak, to press her for more details. Instead he only nodded against her shoulder so that she knew he was still awake and alert to her words. "She hasn't been well for a very long time but today, today it got worse."

He shifted slightly, lifting his cheek from her chest so that she could turn her body on its side, facing the wall instead of him. His arm laced around her waist and he buried his face in her hair, waiting for more of her story.

"She said it's my fault," her voice was even quieter now as she tried to choke out the words. "Sometimes I think it's true."

"But why?" he asked, unable to bite his tongue anymore.

"Because something happened when we were younger, something I should have stopped." It was apparent that this small amount of information was a struggle for her to give him and he could feel a slight trembling against his chest.

"What was it?" he asked cautiously, running his lips softly across her bare shoulder blades.

It took almost a full minute before Brody released a sigh and began, her voice taking on a new resolve. "My mother, she was power hungry, and she was cruel. She had been muggle born, the only witch in her entire line, and she took this seriously, constantly trying to prove that just because she was the only one didn't make her any less powerful.

"My father was blinded by his own weakness for beauty, ignoring her cold personality and cruel words to be married to her and play the role of the proper husband. How she ensnared him, I'll never know, but no matter how cruel she was to him, he still remained her helpless slave- never serving anyone but her. Until Ametti was born.

"I wasn't alive yet, and all I know are the stories that he pulled from his memory and let swirl in his pensieve, but he adored my sister. He no longer lived for my mother, but instead every breath of his was breathed for that tiny blond creature that had the sweetest smile and could summon objects at the age of five. Even after I was born, all of his attention was put into her, all of his free time invested into loving her and entertaining her as best that I could. I never showed signs of magic as a young child and therefore became nothing more than another mouth to feed and another diaper to potty train."

She felt George's grip on her tighten at this sentence, his mouth opened to say something comforting but she knew that if she stopped now, the entire story would never come out, so she continued on, not allowing him to interrupt her.

"It started when I was ten. My mother had always been interested in potion making to an unhealthy extent, often locking herself in a room for days on end to perfect whichever concoction she was inventing. It was after a week of this that she came out to the daylight, seeming oddly serene and talking of how she could help Ametti further her powers.

"Ametti was fifteen at that time and she was so far ahead of everyone her own age that I couldn't understand why my mother was trying to make her any better than she already was. But she fed her that tea for breakfast every morning and then stalked away with the cup back to her lab. It became routine. Ametti was always so polite that even though she thought that crap tasted terrible, she drank it without complaint. It took about three months after the first glass that the headaches started for her- mild at first and then increasing over time. By the time I was eleven, they happened at least three times a week for her and were so bad that she couldn't move and would just yell out in pain. After each headache she would have a few hours where her powers were completely out of her control, much more effective then they had ever been before. In those times, she could transfigure entire houses, summon from over ten miles away, anything she tried to do was magnified a hundred times over.

"That's about when I started getting my powers. They only came when I got too upset and then they would cause serious destruction. My mother wanted nothing to do with it so she made it my father's job to take care of me and teach me how to control myself. She said I was too dangerous for Ametti to be around, that I might hurt her perfect daughter, but Ametti spent as much time as she could with me, getting me prepared for wizarding school as opposed to the muggle elementary school that I had spent the beginnings of my life in."

Brody took this second to pause and catch her breath. She realized that a lump sat in her throat as the rest of the story played out in her mind. Opening her mouth several times, she tried to find the words to continue with, but instead fell silent for a full two minutes.

"You don't have to tell me the rest tonight," George said, finally breaking the silence with a patient squeeze, his own head swimming with questions he longed to ask. He thought of his own mother, so loving to each and every one of her children, no matter their skills. His heart ached as he thought of her, wondering vaguely if she had ever gotten over the cold that Ginny had wrote of.

"She was eighteen when it got really bad, I was thirteen," Brody mumbled, pulling George from the images of his mother serving her brood of red headed children. "The headaches weren't as frequent but the enhanced powers lasted longer and were always followed by hours in which Ametti couldn't use magic at all. My mom was always out of the house then, having packed up her lab and moving it to her work office, she had no need to be in the house any other time than breakfast to feed my sister that putrid tea. Ametti had been dating a boy named Ayden for a couple years by that time and he seemed so proud of her powers that she never had the heart to tell him what was really going on. So she confided in me instead.

"She would spend every night in my bed crying about how much everything seemed to hurt, how hard it was to concentrate her powers now, how she wanted to stop drinking the teas but she was worried about disappointing our mother who she felt had always been exceptionally caring of her.

"And then one day, about four months after Ametti had graduated and she and Ayden had decided to get married, I came home from school to a burnt house and a sister who was sobbing over the injured body of my father. The magical police were swarming everywhere, attempting to cover up the incident from the muggles. It seemed like forever before they would let me through to see her and by that time my father had been apparated to the hospital and they were trying to restrain Ametti enough to take her to the mental facilities.

"They had been fighting, she told me. Apparently he had been drinking the teas too but had caught onto their effect more quickly than she had. He had been trying to convince her to stop drinking it, but she refused, repeating that she wouldn't disappoint our mother, no matter what. They started yelling and as they both got angrier, it set them off. Their emotions caught the house in a massive explosion of unrefined power, injuring him close to death and completely draining what was left of his powers. She was younger, so she had a better hold on hers, but she was already so far gone that it was irreversible.

"My mother, that awful woman, had been sucking them dry, draining their powers with that awful potion- slowly draining their livelihood with every cup of their morning tea. How she was transferring their powers to herself they never found out. She had always craved power, desired being the most powerful witch in the world to an unhealthy level. They found her just hours later in the remains of her office, charred and taking three others with her. Her body couldn't handle all of the magic she was pumping into it and it burst."

Her words stopped short, very aware of the tears streaming down her face. George was still trying to process the story when he realized that with each word, he had moved farther away from her shaking body, unable to handle her brokenness on top of his own. Only his left hand still rested on the small of her back, the rest of him was curled on the opposite side of the mattress, a glaring space sat between their shivering bodies.

"And your dad?" he finally asked, his own thoughts and memories seemed to fill the space between them, not letting him come closer to comfort her trembling frame.

"He's in a home in Massachusetts, a muggle nursing home," she said shamefully. "He lost too much of his mind to know at all what happened or even who he is. I haven't had a real conversation with him in years."

Without thinking, George retracted his arm from her back and wrapped it around himself. His own selfish thoughts roamed to how easy it might be if he didn't remember his own name, his own missing half. He would never have to worry about his mother or his sister or his pompous brothers again.

A cool breeze washed over them, sending goose bumps up their naked skin. Brody slowly turned over to her other shoulder, staring sadly at the space between them. He wanted to reach out to her, he really did, but something was holding him back, as if he know that they were both too messed up to ever fit together again. He felt guilty, knowing that while this girl had so selflessly just spilled out her past, he would never, could never do the same for fear of seeming trite and self absorbed.

"He left her," she croaked softly. "When they committed her, Ayden left her. No cancellation of the engagement, no note, nothing. He just left, unable to deal with her now that she wasn't the most powerful witch of her age. He didn't want her anymore because she wasn't strong, she was just another broken story."

Her eyes flickered at him again sadly, as if she wasn't just speaking of some boy named Ayden. It tugged at his heart through the mountain of invisible crap that lay between them and he was suddenly at her side again, arms around her, lips on her forehead. She sighed with relief when his warm body connected with hers.

"What a bastard," was all he whispered, knowing that it was all he could do to help.

**I'm pretty sure that after that, Brody and George need a review!**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

A dull pain was radiating from George's shoulder as he tried to make sense of the never ending tapping that infiltrated the film of his dreams. He fruitlessly attempted to fall back asleep by burying his head into the thick brown hair on the pillow next to him. The mingled scents of rain, strawberries, and sweat were soothing, but not enough to pull him back into the easy world of his dreams. With a sigh he rolled away from the fragrant strands and let his eyes adjust to the glaring light.

The tapping came from the window where a well groomed owl pecked annoyingly at the glass. Hermes was unmistakable against the backdrop of gray stone wall that was Brody's view. A thick roll of parchment was weighing down his leg, causing him to bob uncertainly with fatigue.

"Go away," George growled, trying to pull himself back into his wonderful night. The now very sharp pain in his shoulder as well as the continued tapping would not let him however. He tried to pull his arm into a more comfortable position but Brody's weight was on it, her body pressed up to his, her arms around him as if she was afraid he would disappear as soon as she let go.

The tapping grew louder and more frenzied, however, as Hermes got more tired. Finally, with a groan, George used his free hand to pull his wand out of the back pocket of his jeans, which were thrown haphazardly across a lamp on the bead stand. A single flick of it opened the window, allowing Hermes to enter the room with an indignant squawk towards him. The bird did not wait for George to take the letter off him and instead broke the rope with his beak, leaving a pile of curling parchment on the kitchen counter before gliding back out of the room, grazing George's head with his wing as he went.

"George," her voice came soft and scratchy as it vibrated against his chest. "What's going on?" she said through a yawn.

"Nothing, Brody, go back to sleep," he whispered uselessly, she had already started to snore softly again.

He looked down upon the face nuzzled to his chest. His stomach jolted a bit as he saw the smears of black makeup across the imperfect skin, looking a lot like dirt. A small scab marred her lower lip where she had bitten it too much during the dry weather and mixed with the light sheen of sweat on her face to give her a sickly look. Her piercings continued to look out of place, as if they were the clip on versions used for a little girl's dress up games. It was clear to him at this moment that he was wrapped in the arms of a broken soul, too far gone for his help. He tried to leave her past out of the judgment but couldn't ignore the haunting images that the tale had left so deeply carved into his psyche.

"Damn it George," he muttered to himself. "What the hell are you doing here?" The vibrations in his chest sent shivers up her sleeping frame and she pulled closer to him, her fevered skin pressing against his own cold frame. "She's just a kid, a kid who thinks your dumbass can change everything," he continued to muttered, looking away from her so that he could center his thoughts. "You can't change anything George; get out before it's too late." He tried to pull from her grip as silently as he could, hoping to disapparate without her noticing. Perhaps he would just go to the hotel for a day; perhaps he would go all the way home. He no longer knew the reason why he was in this bed feeling so soft and wiggly next to this pin cushioned and painted little girl.

One wrong movement shook the painted doll awake, her thin hands automatically rubbing the hair and sleep away from her eyes. His stomach sank, knowing that he would now have to explain his leaving to her- explain why he felt like after she had given up herself emotionally and physically, he felt the need to leave her as he returned to his miserable life in England. Her eyes opened and locked on his, a small twitching at the corners of her lips. It was all he needed. The memory of the worry he felt for her after she had disappeared the day before came rushing back to him as his heart pounded faster in his chest. His body tingled with the memory of how well their bodies had fit together, how every motion, every sensation seemed to be so perfectly designed for this pair of individuals. It was in this sparkling glance and reluctant grin that he knew that he would do everything he could to change things for her.

"You have morning breath," his words were not that of some great heroic lover, but they warranted a kiss filled with the same passion of the night before, especially as she playfully pinched him, causing him to pull her closer to him, squeezing her tightly until she gasped.

He forgot entirely of the pile of parchment that still sat unread on the counter and instead immersed himself in her. They moved together for sometime before she finally left him with a hard kiss as she walked shakily towards a much needed shower. A contented sigh parted his swollen lips as he contemplated standing and dressing. A subconscious turn of his head, however, pulled the scroll into full view, putting it back to the forefront of his thoughts. With a single movement of his wand, the scroll glided effortlessly into his hand. He had to admit, his three days of living like a muggle had been pure hell. How they all got by without magic was beyond him.

Ginny's loopy scrawl covered the parchment with the usual business updates, useless information about Hermione and Ron, infuriating information about her and Harry. It had the usual lengthy "please come home blah blah blah," drabble that had filled her last two letters as well but the final paragraph was slightly unnerving.

_Mum continues to get worse_ it read in a shakier handwriting than he was used to from his little sister. _Percy has quit his job at Flourish and Blotts to help take care of her but Dad still has to take time off of work to help him because he's a bit overwhelmed. She's sleeping a lot and doesn't eat much. They think she's lost about ten pounds in the past week but we still can't persuade her to go to the doctor. She keeps asking for you George- you and Fred. Dad thinks it's the flu. I think it's grief. Stop being selfish George. Come home. Set Mum right._ The letter did not end with a love or a sincerely like they normally did. Her name was simply scratched in anger on the bottom of the parchment, leaving harsh dents in the paper where her quill pressed too hard.

His stomach tumbled over itself as he reread the paragraph more times than he could count, torn between his duty at home and the never ending pain that overwhelmed him when he was there. As much as he missed his mother, he couldn't handle the way his family so easily spoke the fallen member's name. It was as if they had all finished their grieving and now it was ok to speak freely of the dead. In a family where the three syllables of Dumbledore was still said in hushed honor, their own son and brother's single syllable was thrown freely around by everyone except his second half. It was a betrayal. Fred should have meant more to them than any fallen old headmaster. George began to fume as he crumpled the parchment and shoved it into the mess under Brody's bed. He would not go home. They would be fine without him. They always were.

With that tough resolve, George dressed and began rummaging Brody's small pantry for breakfast. He was just finishing the eggs and bacon when Brody emerged from the bathroom in a robe and dripping hair, her face clean of all make up traces. With a smile and a wink he slid a plate over to her before seating himself on the counter with his own three quarters of the food.

"I don't think you split this up at all evenly," Brody laughed as she compared her normal sized portion with his mound of food.

"Growing boy. Does a body good," He flashed a bright smile as he rubbed his stomach before burying himself into his meal once again.

"You're eating me out of house and home, boy," laughing at her own cliché Brody pushed the food around on her place. "When were you planning on going home, actually?" she asked slowly, glancing shyly up at him from under her eyelashes.

His stomach fell a bit. "Well, I don't know. I'm really sorry if I'm causing a bit of a nuisance," he said slowly, trying not to feel too rejected as he wondered where else he would go.

"No! I didn't mean it like that!" She recovered quickly, unthinkingly gripping his arm. "I don't want you to leave. I just have, ya know, school, and life to get back to."

"Oh," his mood brightened slightly. "Well, I really wasn't planning on going back home anytime soon. I still have some stuff I'd like to do out here but I don't want to distract you at all."

"Ok, well, I have a couple classes today. Do you think you'll be ok by yourself?"

"I'm pretty sure I can manage," his crooked smile caused her heart to jump into her throat.

They finished breakfast and she changed while George tried his hand at hand scrubbing the pans before giving up and magicing them clean. Her too short dance shorts caused his growl and another brief interlude before she was finally free to go to school, already missing her first class, while George found something to occupy himself for the next four hours.

His feet took him aimlessly through the crowded city streets as he mused at the various muggle happenings around him. After a particularly nasty car accident where a cab driver rammed head on into a police car while trying to pass in front of someone, George laughed so hard that people began staring at him and grumbling about rudeness. He waved towards the fuming cop before ducking into the nearest shop, a novelty junk store filled with joke items and vintage movie goods.

"How can I help you?" the shop keeper grunted as he saw George and struggled to pull his fat bottom off of the stool that he was lounging on. A sickening crack came from one of the wooden legs and George suspected that it would never sit evenly again.

"I'm just looking around a bit," he said with a wide smile before turning to where a basket of multi colored balloon shaped objects sat staring up at him.

"Those are top of the line whoopee cushions, you know," the man rushed over to him, scratching his bulbous stomach which stuck over the waist band of his knit shorts. "Made just like the old days with 100% rubber. No polyester in that to rip or muffle the sound."

"Really?" George picked up a vomit green colored one and turned it over in his hand. "What exactly do they do?"

"They don't have whoopee cushions overseas?" The man scratched his slightly balding head with confusion before his expression turned to one of excitement, he's eyes glittering with boyish wonder. "Well they're really great- pure Simpsons humor, ya know." George had no idea what he was talking about. "You just put it on an unexpecting person's chair and when they sit down," the man squeezed the cushion and allowed the loud raspberry noise to fill the room. "Fool proof childhood prank every time."

"Brilliant," George laughed aloud as he took the cushion back from the shop keeper. His head began dissecting how to make a pocket sized version, which could be easily slipped into a trouser pocket without the wearer knowing.

He continued to let the middle aged shop keep lead him through the store, laughing heartily at all the muggle jokes and novelties. He ended up leaving an hour later with a Whoopee cushion, a squirting flower, and a stuffed dog that began humping things when you flipped a switch on the remote control that came with it. His head was filled with ideas for his own shop, suddenly getting the first inspiration he had in years. He could now easily justify his stay in America- he had heard all the jokes in England already and these Yanks still had had some new ones up their sleeves.


End file.
